The Call
by Belker
Summary: Ziva is worried about her partner, and does what she does best. Breaks into his apartment. Set in season five, I guess.


_Hello, readers of fanfiction! This is a short fic with Tony and Ziva, set in season five sometime. And I do not own them. Still. *sighs*_**

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**The Call**

"Tony?" she called out and knocked softly on the door. No answer.

She didn't waste any more time, and with ease picked the lock to his apartment, hoping he hadn't put the safety chain on. Though, if he had been as drunk as Abby had described, he probably couldn't manage the intricate motions required.

"Tony?" she called again as she carefully swung the door open. She was greeted only by silence. And darkness. Maybe he had gotten himself to bed. Maybe Abby had exaggerated and was overly concerned. Maybe he was fine. Somehow, she couldn't make herself believe that.

She stepped into his living room and some of her worry faded away as she took in the scene before her.

He had crawled up into the corner of his big leather couch and lay in what seemed to her a very uncomfortable position. Long legs sprawled under the coffee table, one arm somehow tucked behind his back, the other lying limply on the cushions. His chin was resting on his chest and he was snoring from the effort of breathing through such kinked airways.

In other words, Tony DiNozzo slept the heavy sleep of a man truly drunk.

She caught herself standing absolutely still, merely observing him, a smile ghosting over her lips in defiance of prior worries, as Gibbs' voice was playing in her head; "_DiNozzo's pleasant and fun to listen to - when he's asleep._"

She walked up to him and again called his name. Twice, three times. No reaction what so ever. Had she not seen and heard his breathing, she'd been wondering whether he was alive or not.

Checking first to see if he was armed, she then leaned in on him.

"Tony!" she whispered in his ear. The worry that he might shove a gun in her face if startled out of his sleep was unfounded. The only response she got was a mumble and the following reek of alcohol, that made her turn away lest she'd be intoxicated from the fumes alone.

She flipped open her phone and dialed.

"Abby, it is me. He is here and he seems okay. Merely drunk off his head."

"Oh, thank god! And ass."

"Who is Ass?"

"No, drunk off his ass, Ziva. Take good care of him. Promise? He's…y'know…hurt."

"I promise, Abby. Do not worry. Good night."

Tony sighed and shifted position slightly, and the phone he'd been holding almost slipped from his grasp. It was flipped open, as if he'd been calling someone. Ziva gently pried it from his hand and placed it on the table, then gave him a little shake. She got a grunt in reply, and then his head lolled to the side to come and rest on her arm. More highly explosive fumes escaped him. Ziva sighed with frustration, then tried to manhandle his heavy - and most uncooperative - body to a more comfortable position. After a good ten minutes, she had him resting flat on the sofa, still breathing heavily, but not snoring any longer. She pulled his shoes off and tossed a blanket over him. Looking down on his unconscious form, she debated with herself for a second before she fetched a trashcan and placed it beside him. Nodding contentedly, she then got him a glass of water. She put it down on the table beside his cell, and wondered for a moment who he'd been meaning to call.

_Jeanne, _her mind whispered to her. Of course it would be Jeanne.

They had both been hurt very badly from the Director's operations, but Ziva believed that it had actually been Tony who had been worse off. He had not been lied to, and he had not been surprised beyond belief from the outcome, but Ziva suspected that he had loved for the first time in his life. Such wounds take time to heal, Ziva knew.  
Tony was a complicated man and a real enigma sometimes, but she enjoyed learning about his true person, bit by bit. It wasn't like he gave any of it away willingly.

She picked up the cell to close it, and she would never admit that she looked at the display with anything else than mild curiosity. Ziva did not pry. But she saw what she saw and snapped the phone shut, before putting it back on the table. She smiled a soft smile and bent down to gently caress Tony's flushed cheek.

The number had been hers. He was going to call her.

**The End**

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_Are they not cute? And clueless, at least in that season._

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End file.
